


Silent Treatment

by storiesfortravellers



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Bondage, Communication, Community: kink_bingo, Dom/sub Play, Established Relationship, Held Down, M/M, Mild Angst, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Silence Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 05:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>G likes it when Sam makes him stay quiet during sex. He also likes that Sam never makes him answer questions he can't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Treatment

With Sam, it was always quiet. Even when they were grunting, shooting snark at each other -- _finish already you sonuvabitch!_ \-- even when everything on the table or counter or bed went crashing to the floor, it always felt, to G, quiet.

Like for once, everything was still. 

It was strange to have everything else just fade out, to be free of the buzz of the past and the future. 

It was something almost like calm, and for a long time, it scared G.

He got over it.

~~

Sometimes it cut like a knife that he would always be second place for Sam. 

Most of the time, though, G liked the arrangement. 

Intellectually, he understood it. Family first. Partner second, even if you’re sleeping with him. Rationally, he was grateful that Sam’s wife had made an exception just for him. He figured Sam had probably given her a speech about how pathetic and lacking in human relationships G was and how this would probably be good for him.

And truth be told, if Sam tried to be to G what he was to Michelle, G would probably be overwhelmed.

He would probably run like hell.

G knew what this said about himself. And he kind of hated himself for not even feeling like he deserved more. 

But at another level, more visceral, he liked the idea of being Sam’s plaything on the side. Sam’s favorite object.

He wasn’t really just a plaything, of course. Sam had made it clear; they weren’t exclusive, but they were forever. G was welcome in his life – in every possible way – as long as G wanted to be.

He had never known anyone who said anything like that to him, much less whom he believed.

When Sam talked to him about things like that, he never knew what to say. He usually just nodded like a dumbass and looked away so Sam couldn’t read his face. But Sam never forced him to say the same thing back, never even asked. He knew the answer and he wasn’t going to torture G by making him say it.

 

~~

They both liked variety, but they still had their favorites on fairly regular repeat.

G’s favorite was this:

Naked, hands chained up behind his back. 

Sam would grab him by the hair to move him around. Because Sam was cautious (and Sam was excruciatingly cautious), he never dragged G by the hair. He pulled lightly to direct G and waited for his submission. 

Sam would bend him over. Sometimes over a chair, sometimes just standing, sometimes on a table, its surface cool and hard against G’s stomach. Sam would grab G and hold him tightly in place, leveraging his arms and body on G’s to keep him there.

G could feel it then. A hit like cold air: the sensation that even if he wanted to, he couldn’t overcome Sam. Sam could keep him right there, and G wouldn’t be able to stop him.

Not that Sam would, if G safeworded, or even if G started getting too tense. But Sam was the only person who had ever been able to hold G down like that without making him feel in his bones that he had to fight for his life. 

G had spent his entirely sexual life before Sam pretending to feel overpowered. The very few people who could overpower him for real… G wouldn’t put his body in their hands. Not voluntarily. 

With Sam, he could finally feel it. Sam was holding him there. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t run, he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t want to be there, he couldn’t do anything but let Sam take what he wanted.

It was a relief. 

Sam left hand would come around, gently cup G’s mouth and jaw, as if forbidding him to protest, to scream. The taste of Sam’s fingers settled on G’s tongue. 

And then slowly, smoothly, Sam would move inside him, fingers first, then dick, gliding slick into him and filling him, motion and power and tight control of G’s body. His moans, covered by Sam’s hand, vibrating on his lips.

When Sam was done he sat, leaving G hard and unsatisfied, his back covered in Sam’s come. G would kneel in front of him. That was part of it, too: he wasn’t allowed to beg.

After teasing G for a long while, Sam would finally pity him and get him off with his hand. Then, finally, he would unchain him.

This was G’s favorite scene, and the only one he never wanted any variations on.

Once, Sam asked him why he didn’t want to get off right away, why he wanted the torture of waiting, why he wanted Sam to roleplay as someone who didn’t care what he had to say, who didn’t care if he cried out in pain or pleasure, who didn’t even care much about G’s pleasure at all. 

G just shrugged and was silent. Sam didn’t make him answer.


End file.
